


Per aspera ad astra

by NoiraKai



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Sorry I killed off half the crew, Survival cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoiraKai/pseuds/NoiraKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and Ethos bond in the the wake of a terrible disaster on the Sleipnir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Per aspera ad astra

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_nerd_word](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_word/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, NW! Sorry this is kind of rushed but I wanted to have it in time for your special day!!!  
> Title is Latin for "Through hardships to the stars."

“This is useless,” Porthos muttered, in between noisy, labored breaths into his oxygen mask. He scowled, and wiped some condensation off his chin, as he pointed his flashlight down the abysmally long hall. He wasn't even sure which way was up anymore... tossed about and weightless, it just as easily could have been the floor above his head instead of the ceiling.

To his right, or below him, or something, Cain substituted his usual snarky comment with a sharp breath out of his nose. Porthos looked over, watching as Cain's eyes stared into the darkness, incredibly alert. The fighter tilted up his ear, listening intently to the eerie silence... touching weightless fingers to the ceiling/floor, as if he were holding up the whole corridor with just an arm. His other hand absentmindedly traced the outline of his blaster, tucked inside a holster at his hip.

“We're not gonna find anybody are we--”

“Shh! Listen--” Cain hissed at him, looking sideways with a cutting glare.

“I don't hear anything,” Porthos complained.

“Well you're not going to, unless you fucking shut your trap! You're just wasting breath by talking!” Cain turned away from him, but then quickly turned back to add something else. “And wasting _my_ breath by making me yell at you!”

“Okay! _Sorry_ \--”

“Asshole...” Cain mumbled, and Porthos opened his mouth to protest.

CLANG

CLANG

CLANG

Cain glanced over with wide eyes for just a moment, sparing no time as he pushed away from the wall and floated towards the source of the sound. “Bring the spanner. Hurry!” he said behind him.

“The what?!”

“Fuck...” Cain said under his breath as he grabbed at another wall, trying to slow down. “The _wrench_. Bring the wrench!”

“Oh, right.” Porthos pushed off, floating backwards through the hallway in a direction that felt strangely like straight down, like falling in slow motion, as he got the wrench out of the bag. Too late he realized he was too far away from anything to change direction or stop, the wrench in one hand and the flashlight in the other. He heard the airy sound of Cain's oxygen tank getting closer in his ear, so he reached out with the wrench. “Here, catch me,” he said.

Cain caught the tool with a clap, rolling his eyes as he pulled Porthos with it towards the wall. “I think it was coming from in here,” he whispered, tapping a knuckle lightly on the metal door.

They looked at each other as they waited for an answer, no sound for a few moments but the sound of their masks slowly pushing out air. They would have to go back soon, Porthos realized, or they would run out.

CLANG

CLANG

Cain's eyes went wide again, gesturing wildly at a bolt on the frame of the door. “Do the thing!” he said frantically.

Porthos lined the wrench up and turned as hard as he could. “Its... not moving!” he said, panicked, examining the bolt, which was covered in a layer of frost.

Cain let out an exasperated sigh, grabbing the wrench out of his hands and sending Porthos floating up the hallway with a shove. “What, did they not teach leftey loosey, rightey tightey at the Academy?” Cain groaned, straining as he twisted the bolt free. “How in the name of Mother's tits did I get stuck with you, anyway?”

“Oh, and here I thought you just wanted to steal me away to some dark corner, to make out,” Porthos jeered, clawing at the floor above his head with one hand, and pointing his flashlight for Cain with the other.

Cain snorted, an almost solemn noise. “Yeah. Well, it's not like Abel's gonna be in a makey outey mood any time soon...” he said quietly, finally getting the bolt free and moving down to the one closer to the ceiling. The fighter combed a hand through his hair, raven locks whipping everywhere, like he were moving through the depths of some inky ocean.

Porthos closed his eyes, shutting out the darkness. _Don't go there. Don't think about it,_ he thought to himself. _If you think about it, you'll break down. If you break down, you'll die._

_You have to keep moving. Have to go on. Change the subject._

“You know,” he said, floating back in the direction of the door. “Whoever's in there probably heard you yelling at me.”

“Pfft. So?”

“So, we wouldn't have found them otherwise.”

“Whatever,” Cain scoffed, handing the wrench back to Porthos for safe keeping. “Now help me get this door open.”

It was a definitely a two person job. With hardly any leverage or friction to help them, they struggled to pry the door open for the first inch or so. But there through the narrow crack, dragging almost lifelessly along the floor, was a navigator with curly blond hair.

“Ethos!” Porthos called out, finding renewed purpose as he pushed the door open the rest of the way, crackling ice giving way as he shoved. “Ethos, can you hear me?!”

He flew through the narrow opening, pulling at the door to built momentum to get to Ethos. Taking in a deep breath, he ripped the oxygen mask off of his face and held it over Ethos's nose.

 _Breathe,_ he silently pleaded, holding his breath and cradling Ethos in his arms. _Please breathe. I can't watch someone else die today._

It took far too long before Ethos stirred, sleepily opening his eyes and struggling to focus on his rescuer's face. “Porthos...” Ethos said hoarsely. “What... what happened?”

Porthos exhaled, pulling the mask back up to his own face for another quick breath before returning it to Ethos. “Well... you remember Apollo 13?” he asked, a cloud of misty breath dissipating into the room. Just more carbon dioxide for Ethos to breathe, Porthos realized, and winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Ethos nodded his head, weakly taking in air from the mask.

He stole another breath. “That's pretty much us. There was... an explosion in the reactors.” He closed his eyes again, as if that could shut out the blinding flash and the subsequent screams from his memory.

Meanwhile, Cain wrestled with his bag, contents floating everywhere as he got out one of two extra oxygen tanks they'd brought with them. He handed it to Porthos, then got out their small radio. “We found Ethos. He's alive,” he said somberly, grabbing at a first aid kit which was slowly escaping.

A burst of sound from the radio filled the room, the sound of a few people clapping and cheering on the other side. “Well done, men. What's his condition?” Keeler asked from the saferoom. Cain held the radio out for someone else to answer.

“Ethos are you injured at all?” Porthos asked, brushing the smaller man's bangs out of his eyes.

“Not really. I think I hit my head,” Ethos answered quietly.

“He's weak, but he's able to be moved. We'll bring him back right away,” Porthos said into the radio.

“Where –- where's Praxis?” Ethos asked, looking frantically between the other two men.

Porthos looked at Cain, unsure how to answer, though he knew what the answer was. Cain just glared at him as he turned the radio back off, shaking his head slightly so Ethos couldn't see.

“Where is he?!” Ethos tried to shout, but choked on the words and began to cough instead.

“We don't have time to talk Ethos, we have to get you back,” Porthos lied. They would have had plenty of time to talk about it on the long way back to the safe room. But if Ethos started crying now, it would only use up his oxygen faster.

Ethos shivered in his arms, spurring Porthos into action. “Here let's get you a blanket,” he said, gingerly handing Ethos off to Cain, who made a terrified face.

“We, uh... have a saferoom set up in the middle of the ship,” Cain explained as Porthos chased a floating blanket across the room. “We have just enough emergency power for air, heat, and gravity in the one room.”

“But... what about the backup generators?” Ethos asked.

“The backups are fucked, too.” Cain answered gruffly.

“Is there anything else you need to bring, Ethos?” Porthos asked, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

“Um...”

Cain let out a frustrated growl. “Dude, we don't have time for this--”

“It'll only take a second!” Porthos snapped.

“Um... I have a hoodie in my foot locker,” Ethos said, pointing at the small chest bolted to the floor above their heads.

Porthos left Ethos in Cain's care again, all of the contents of the chest spilling out as he opened the lid. He grabbed the hoodie, and a spare pair of underwear, crumpling them into his bag for transport. “Okay, let's go,” he said, crouching in front of Ethos. “Hang on to my neck, and I'll pull you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ethos croaked, and complied, warm and light against Porthos's back as they floated out of the room. “How could the –- how could the backups be... fucked?”

Porthos let out a weary sigh. “We don't know. But it seems too perfect to be an accident, doesn't it?”

“You mean... sabotage?” Ethos whispered into his ear.

“Exactly,” Cain said, giving the two Navigators a friendly push in the right direction. “And we suspect whoever did this might drop by to inspect their handiwork. We're sitting ducks.”

Porthos clenched his teeth, remembering again the bright flash and the crack like lightning that rattled through his bones. “Whoever _did this_ might still be on the ship...”

 

* * *

 

Keeler rushed to meet them when they finally got back to the safe room, worrying over Ethos with a scanner as Cain and Porthos layed him out on a table, holding him down, even though he probably wouldn't float away in twenty-five percent gravity.

“Abel and Encke aren't back yet?!” Cain observed. “Have you heard anything?”

“They're on their way,” Keeler said, only giving Cain's question a fraction of his attention.

“Have they found anyone?” Cain asked quickly. “Anyone alive?”

“No,” Keeler answered quietly. “No, it's just us now... we're so glad you're okay, Ethos.”

“Oh, I'm glad to be here, too!” Ethos said with a weak smile. “Thanks so much for rescuing me.”

Porthos smiled down at him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight, once again feeling the urge to brush the other blond's bangs out of his eyes.

That thought was interrupted as Abel and Encke came through the door behind him. Porthos looked over his shoulder, his pulse quickening immediately, breath labored in his lungs. Abel stood there scowling in defeat, standing like the weight of the world had been on his shoulders even in zero G.

Cain rushed over to him, mumbling something in Russian, but Abel just gave his fighter an unreadable look and shook his head. His face brightened up considerably, though, when he looked over toward the table.

“Ethos!” Abel exclaimed, rushing over to them. “I'm so glad you're okay--”

“ _You stay the fuck away from him,”_ Porthos barked, standing in Abel's way before he even thought about what he was doing or saying.

“Porthos!” Keeler shouted from behind them. He realized immediately he had made a scene, with Abel looking like he'd been stabbed in the heart, and Cain behind him, looking ready to do some stabbing of his own.

Ethos gasped. “Abel, what's wrong?! ...What happened to your hand?!”

Abel only gave a quick glance to the bandages on his right hand before looking back up at the man towering over him, his eyes fierce and pleading at the same time. “Porthos, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Porthos scoffed. “Don't waste your precious oxygen, Abel. You _never_ liked him. Everyone knew that.”

Abel was taken aback, giving Porthos plenty of time to rethink what he was saying. He knew somewhere in his mind he was wrong, but his heart wouldn't let him accept it. Someone had to be at fault. Someone had to be responsible.

“I had to make a decision,” Abel said finally. “I was just trying to do what I thought was right--”

“ _You killed him,”_ Porthos spat, taking a step closer to Abel, which was mirrored by Cain.

“No,” Abel shook his head. “That's not true. The _reactor..._ killed him. He just didn't know he was dead yet. I... just didn't want him to suffer anymore. I just... wanted him to stop--”

“Is anybody going to tell me what the... fuck is going on?!” Ethos said behind them, stammering over the uncharacteristic swear.

“All right, that's enough!” Suddenly Keeler pushed in between him and Abel, braid whipping as he looked back and forth. “This has been...” he started, and paused to let out a heavy sigh. “This has been a difficult day for everyone. I've heard Abel's side of the story, and I'm willing to hear yours as well,” he said, looking at Porthos. “I know you and Phobos were close, but just _try_ to think about this objectively, okay?”

Porthos could feel every eye in the room watching him. He answer Keeler with a helpless shrug.

“If there _is_ a need for an investigation, one will of course be conducted once we are rescued. But in the meantime, we're not going anywhere, and we need to figure out how to get along. And I think _all_ of our minds will be clearer after we've had some sleep. Is that all right with you, Porthos?”

Porthos crossed his arms, glancing between Keeler and Abel. Part of him felt like a fool for accusing Abel, but knew he had too much pride to ever apologize. He gave a reluctant nod, trying not to roll his eyes too much at his superior.

“Good. Now. It's gonna get cold tonight,” Keeler declared, dismissing the previous subject of conversation with a renewed authority in his voice. “We only have enough power to keep it above freezing. Everyone will need to bunk together in groups of two or three to keep warm.” Then he turned and spoke to Porthos alone. “Will you stay with Ethos and look after him for me? He'll be okay, but he needs to be on oxygen for a while longer.”

“Yes, sir,” Porthos said quietly, looking down at the ground.

 

* * *

  
  
Ethos shivered against him, face covered by the hood of his sweatshirt and buried in Porthos's chest. Even so, he could tell that Ethos was crying, tiny stifled sobs echoing against the mask.

The blanket served as little protection from the oppressive cold, and between that and all of the noise, he couldn't sleep. Not knowing what else to do, Porthos held Ethos even closer to his chest, silently willing for Ethos to be still. He calmed his own breathing, as if that would make Ethos breathe normally too.

It didn't work.

In his frustration, Porthos found himself pulling the hood off of Ethos's hair, pressing his mouth to the golden curls... desperate like some tactile form of prayer. _Sleep, please sleep. Please let me sleep._

He kissed him again on the forehead, and could feel Ethos's skin start to flush, radiating heat, and the breathing under the mask got a little louder. Well, if that's what it would take to make them both warm, then so be it, Porthos decided. He ran a soft hand down Ethos's back and over his ass to make him blush even more, and the cold seemed to retreat into the darkness. 

Porthos cradled Ethos's head with one hand, smiling against his brow as Ethos slowly pulled the mask down, and tilted his head up so their lips brushed against each other. Porthos leaned into it, just smushing their lips together as he tangled his fingers into the other blond's hair. He broke away for a moment to let Ethos breathe, before kissing him again. He held him there still, letting them both pour all their sadness into the intensity of it, frozen in space and time in that moment as if they could live forever.

He kept kissing Ethos just like that, strong and slow and full of unspoken sorrow, until the two of them finally fell asleep.


End file.
